


none pizza with left dick

by nastea



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Billy Hargrove is a Porn Star, Deepthroating, Face-Fucking, Facials, M/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut, Steve Harrington is a Pizza Boy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-04
Updated: 2019-12-04
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:00:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21675652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nastea/pseuds/nastea
Summary: “So, that’s my large pizza with extra sausage?” Billy asks him.Steve hurriedly retrieves the order slip from inside the bag. He smooths it out with slightly shaky hands and squints at the list.“Uh— No, actually,” he answers. “Says here you got an extra large with, uh, regular sausage.”
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Comments: 54
Kudos: 574





	none pizza with left dick

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [FreshAfterDark](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreshAfterDark/pseuds/FreshAfterDark) for the cheerleading and the totally 100% serious title. ♥

Steve looks down at the delivery slip in his hand, rereading it for the third time since he pulled up to the manicured front lawn of what is, by all appearances, a multi-million dollar manor. On the _beach,_ no less.

It's just... it's _weird,_ because there are several cars parked outside — enough to suggest there's some kind of party going on. And Steve has exactly one pizza. It’s an extra large, but there's no way it’s enough to feed the number of people Steve estimates must be inside the sprawling L.A. mansion. 

He glances through the front windshield, squints back down at the slip, and wonders if maybe he's being pranked. Under the 'special instructions’ header, he reads:

_send ur cutest driver ;)_

Steve gawks at the winky face, realization hitting him like a slap in the face. _This_ was why Robin had looked so amused when she handed him the order. Whether or not she knew any details besides is unclear, but Steve can't just keep sitting here contemplating it while the box goes cold and time runs out. He’s only got about ten minutes to deliver before the order is free.

Wait— _Shit._

_Five_ minutes.

Steve stumbles over himself in a panic to get out of his car. He grabs the insulated bag, stuffs the order slip inside, and speedwalks up the front lawn, hastily jumping over a few ornaments and a sprinkler on his way to the porch. 

He knocks on the front door — once, twice — then furrows his brow, because he thinks he hears a woman's voice crying out something unintelligible in the background. A couple moments later, the door swings open and a middle-aged man sporting an obnoxiously bushy handlebar moustache is standing there. He looks Steve over, eyes jumping to the stupid visor that's messing up Steve’s hair, then to the thermal bag conspicuously emblazoned with the Domino’s logo that he’s got in his hands. 

The man looks back over his shoulder and shouts: "Who ordered the pizza?”

Steve clears his throat. He fishes out the delivery slip again — not that he has to, he's been staring at it long enough to remember the name that’s printed on it.

"Uh, it's for Billy," he says. The man looks back at him. There's something like amusement playing at the corners of his mouth. He nods once, then jabs his thumb vaguely behind him.

"He's by the pool."

He's already walking away before Steve can ask him where the pool is, exactly, or whether he can go fetch Billy himself so that Steve doesn’t have to. 

He groans and glances down at his watch. _Four minutes._

Steve leaves the foyer and hurries down a sprawling hallway. He can hear men and women's voices echoing from what he thinks is the kitchen. He also picks up on occasional bouts of laughter, and something that sounds an awful lot like moaning from somewhere upstairs.

Steve rounds the corner in time to see a crowd of bodies assembled in the open-concept living room. There are cameras everywhere — some on tripods, some scattered on the marble center island of the kitchen. He sees a few men dressed like the guy who answered the door — casually, in sweaters and jeans — and then others who are buck ass naked. 

There’s a nude brunette girl with fake tits and stilettos sashaying past him with a cellphone pressed to the side of her face. Another naked girl is perched on one of the barstools in the kitchen, touching up her makeup in a compact. 

Steve’s mouth goes cotton-dry. His heart skips a few beats, probably because all the blood is being redirected south, because, _wow,_ there are at least _three_ other naked perfect tens in the room just milling about like it’s nothing. And Steve’s a hot-blooded nineteen year old, so this is, like, a _lot_ for him to process.

He realizes, after a couple moments spent silently gaping, that some of the people in the room are staring at him. A few of them look amused; he thinks he overhears a couple quiet sniggers. 

Then Steve feels a light tapping on his shoulder, and immediately spins around to see a pretty blonde girl with a silk robe barely covering her chest staring back at him. Even by Californian standards, she’s ridiculously hot, and Steve’s heart is hammering so hard in his chest he thinks he’s starting to feel a little faint.

He realizes what this is, at least. Contrary to popular belief, Steve _can_ add two and two together. 

This is a porn shoot. Like, an honest-to-god _porn shoot._ And someone ordered a pizza.

The irony isn’t lost on him.

“Are you looking for someone?” the girl is asking. Steve thinks he might actually recognize her. He swallows, hard, and tries to look her in the eye. 

“Yeah, I-I’ve got a delivery for, uh—” He clears his throat, tries to sound cool — and fails, miserably. _Fuck_ , he should have ditched the stupid hat. “Billy.”

The pretty blonde porn actress is smiling at him, now. Steve glances at her lips and realizes that it’s a mistake. His dick traitorously twitches in his jeans.

“He’s just through those glass doors up ahead,” the girl says. Steve nods stiffly and has to resort to holding the thermal bag by his crotch, because he isn’t small by any metric and all of his jeans are a little snug in the seat. 

Despite Steve’s burning curiosity, he tries not to glance around the room as he passes through the living and kitchen space. Fortunately — at least, for the sake of what remains of Steve’s sanity — no other naked women cross his path on his way to the backyard.

Steve steps outside. It’s bright and sunny and warm, as it always is in southern California. Towering palm trees sway indolently in the faint breeze. There’s a massive pool surrounded by flagstone and various stylish beach loungers. It looks like the sort of scene one might see in a summer edition of Home and Garden magazine, perfectly staged and immaculate.

Steve heaves a relieved breath when a first glance reveals the pool deck is — at least mostly — empty.

Steve then promptly retracts that relieved breath when he spots its lone occupant languishing on one of the chairs. He’s half-naked, wearing little more than a powder blue robe that he hasn’t bothered to tie tightly around his waist, so it hangs off his shoulders and shows off the full expanse of his tanned chest. Every ridge and valley of his impressive musculature gleams a little in the sunlight, as though he’s rubbed himself down with oil. He’s got blonde hair that falls to his shoulders in loose waves, a pair of sunglasses perched on the bridge of his nose, and a cigar pinched between his teeth.

Steve feels a little like the air has been punched out of him when he notices that the guy is hard, his free hand loosely palming over his dick. 

And that he’s absolutely fucking gorgeous.

There’s no one else outside, so this _has_ to be Billy. The realization has Steve wanting nothing more than to shrink in on himself, to turn heel and skirt back inside and ask someone to take pity on him and pay before his thirty minutes is up.

“Hey.”

Steve freezes like a deer caught in headlights; the whole line of his back has gone stiff. He knows his dick is half-hard where it presses up against the zipper of his pants, and all he wants right now is to dissolve into the flagstone and disappear.

“Is that for me?” the man asks, the corners of his mouth upticking into a toothy smirk that is both handsome and predatory. 

Steve wishes he had been faster about backing up into the kitchen, or that he at least had a little more composure. But this guy’s making eye contact now and— _Oh,_ his eyes are the most striking shade of blue Steve’s ever seen, reflecting the aquamarine of the pool and framed by thick, dark lashes. 

Steve is so anxious and horny that he can barely get the words out. 

“Maybe.” He wets his lips and keeps the pizza box strategically covering the front of his pants, all while making a concerted effort not to watch the slow, lazy grind of the guy’s palm against the obvious outline of his dick. “Are you Billy?”

The guy — Billy — is staring at Steve’s mouth, and suddenly he feels self-conscious. Steve knows he’s easy on the eyes, but this guy is literally _perfect;_ he looks like he’s been forged out of sunshine and Steve’s wet dreams. And Steve’s pretty sure it’s obvious how flustered he is, because that amused smirk hasn’t faltered for a second.

“Sure am,” Billy says. His hand stops moving as he breathes out twin plumes of smoke from his nostrils. The smell of his cigar is pungent, and Steve can’t stop watching the way the tip of it disappears past Billy’s pink lips, or the way he runs his tongue along them when he pulls the cigar out, or the way he bites at them when he gives Steve the most unsubtle once-over he’s ever gotten in his entire damn life.

Steve isn’t sure why that makes him feel so naked. _He’s_ not the one lying around in a barely-there robe. 

“So, that’s my large pizza with extra sausage?” Billy asks him, and whether or not the innuendo is intentional, Steve’s ears zero in on the word because he’s so stupidly turned on. He swallows the lump in his throat and glances down at the thermal bag he has clutched, white-knuckled, at groin-level, if only for an excuse to take his eyes off the golden Adonis stretched out before him.

Steve hurriedly retrieves the order slip from inside the bag. He smooths it out with slightly shaky hands and squints at the list.

“Uh— No, actually,” he answers. “Says here you got an _extra_ large with, uh, regular sausage.”

Billy chuckles. The sound is low and sultry and unmistakably amused. It sits low in Steve’s gut and makes his heart do something strange in his chest.

He dares to glance up again. Billy is still staring at him, the intensity of his gaze penetrating. Steve feels like he's rooted to the spot.

“Is that okay?”

“I guess so,” Billy says with a shrug, beginning to sit up from his lounger. Steve’s eyes immediately dart to the one thick, muscled thigh uncovered by the movement as Billy’s robe hitches up. He swallows again as Billy ashes his cigar and sets it down in a crystal ashtray on the ground beside him.

Steve isn’t sure by which invisible force his legs begin to move again, but he feels himself pulled forward, his movements slow and stiff. He tries to keep a cool facade, though he doubts it’s convincing. Steve has never felt this _un_ cool in his whole damn life, and, like, he was Prom King in senior year, so— he was cool. At one point.

Steve holds his tongue between his teeth as he balances the bag on one knee and slides out the warm cardboard box, hoping — _praying_ — that his current state isn’t obvious. 

“So—” He tries to keep speaking, glancing upward only to see that Billy’s eyes haven’t left him, watching him like a hungry lion. Dude must really want his pizza. “How would you like to pay?”

Billy’s eyes light up with something that has Steve’s cock giving another intrigued twitch and his insides squirming — and he’s not sure what it is, exactly, or why Billy won’t stop staring. 

“Hm.” Billy is standing up, now, running his big palms along his hips like he’s searching for his pockets. Steve follows them. Then he gets distracted following the deep _V_ of Billy’s robe as it extends down his waxed chest and just past his navel. He feels his heart give another excited pitter-patter.

“Damn,” Billy says, half-heartedly. “I don’t have any cash on me.”

Steve’s too fucking turned on to think clearly. His eyes are watching Billy’s hands; they keep involuntarily darting to the absolutely unsubtle tent between his legs.

“That’s okay,” he blurts, reaching behind into his back pocket where he keeps his card reader. “I can take cards, too.”

Billy’s smirk widens. Steve’s not sure why that makes his heart race; maybe it’s because he feels like he’s about to be devoured.

It speaks to how turned on he is that the possibility actually sounds kind of appealing.

“That all you can take?” Billy purrs. He’s stalking forward, now. Steve’s half-tempted to take a step back, just to maintain some buffer of space between them, but he’s frozen in place again. He can’t seem to unstick his tongue from the dry roof of his mouth, but thankfully Billy doesn’t give him a chance to speak.

“Maybe there’s some _other way_ I could pay you.” Billy quirks one of his eyebrows, and Steve can’t help but notice the scar. 

It takes him a half-second longer to notice the _implication;_ it isn’t until Billy is right up in his space, a hair’s breadth away from touching him, and working that bottom lip between his teeth in a poor facsimile of coyness, that realization sinks in.

He thought he’d been imagining that Billy was flirting with him. Steve is too horny to think straight, after all, and Billy is too gorgeous and too forward, and this all feels like some sort of erotic fantasy come true.

As he stares across the scant space between them and feels Billy’s heat pouring off him, hot and inviting, Steve can’t seem to control the words that fall past his lips.

“Like _what?”_

Billy’s grin is shark-like. There’s no hesitation, no shame, when he says:

“Like sucking your dick.”

Steve reels. He can’t— He can’t believe this is happening, and Billy is— 

Billy is staring at his crotch. Without the pizza box there to hide it, Steve _knows_ that Billy can see the obvious bulge of his dick where it’s straining against his jeans. Self-conscious though he feels, it’s eclipsed by the throb of desire pounding through him like a second pulse, making his body feel hot and heavy all at once. 

Steve doesn’t take long to consider it. He doesn’t _have to_ consider it, because he doesn’t think he could turn down someone this strikingly gorgeous if his life depended on it.

But also, like, Steve is probably biased right now, seeing as how his dick has effectively taken over the role of executive decision-making from his brain.

“O-Okay.” Steve clears his throat. If this is some kind of prank, then he hopes it ends soon. If it isn’t, well— 

He’s about to get his dick sucked by a porn star.

“Yeah. Okay.”

Billy looks pleased by his answer. Steve doesn’t have a chance to regain his bearings, because no sooner than the agreement leave his lips, the pizza box and bag are suddenly snatched out of his hands and dropped to the lounger beside him. And then Billy’s hands are on him, big and warm and everywhere; they run up his sides, under the hem of his polo, across his chest, down to his belt.

Billy is working the buckle open when Steve’s brain whirs briefly back to life. He throws a nervous glance over his shoulder, toward the glass doors. Behind them, the crowds of cast and crew are still crowded inside the kitchen. Obviously none of them have any issues with nudity or voyeurism, but Steve is just a pizza boy, and he doesn’t think he wants everyone gawking at him while he gets head in the backyard.

He awkwardly clears his throat. Billy’s eyes snap up at him, one eyebrow quirked. 

Either he’s a mind-reader, or Steve is just _that_ easy to read; Billy still has the nerve to roll his eyes, though, before leading Steve by the belt loops farther into the yard and behind one of the palm trees. It’s still not exactly private, but they’re out of direct line of sight and, honestly? The second Billy works open the front of Steve’s pants and starts grinding the heel of his palm against Steve’s dick, all the sense has well and truly left him. 

Steve presses his eyes shut and groans.

“Ooh, you packing heat down here, pretty boy?” Billy sounds delighted, and while Steve is well-aware of the fact that he’s got a decently big cock, there’s something about hearing it from a _literal porn star_ that really drives it home.

“Maybe,” Steve says, as if he has anything to be humble about. 

This seems to spurr Billy on, like he can’t wait to sate his curiosity; he gets both hands on Steve’s belt loops and yanks, tugging Steve’s jeans down his thighs before Billy drops unceremoniously to his knees. 

Steve stares down at him, transfixed. He can’t take his eyes off of Billy’s, watching the way they fall half-lidded as he buries his mouth against Steve’s hipbone, as he trails his lips down the dark hair of his treasure trail, to where the head of Steve’s cock is nearly poking out of the waistband of his Calvins.

Billy’s eyes go dark, then, his pupils blown wide. He closes them and presses his mouth against the cotton fabric of Steve’s briefs and sucks at him through the thin layer of fabric.

Steve can’t hold back his breathy moan — not just because it feels good, but because Billy _looks_ so fucking good, right then. His eyes fall closed like he’s relishing it as his pink lips suckle at Steve through his underwear.

“Can’t wait to get this monster in my mouth,” Billy purrs, eyes blinking open so he can peer up at Steve with a sly grin. Steve realizes, with a sudden, sinking feeling, that if Billy keeps this up much longer, he’s going to cum in an embarrassingly short amount of time.

One of his hands jumps to Billy’s hair and grabs a fistful. He's tentative at first, because Steve kind of feels like this is _Billy’s_ show to run, like he’s just a lucky participant in whatever the hell is happening right now. 

But when Billy hooks both of his thumbs on the waistband of Steve’s briefs and pulls them down, springing Steve’s cock free so that it taps a wet spot against his chin, Steve’s grip tightens. 

And when Billy gives the tip one teasing little lick, Steve’s head is spinning so violently that he can’t help but yank at Billy’s hair.

It doesn’t seem like he’s overstepped any unspoken boundaries, at least; Billy groans _,_ his lashes fluttering, his chin tilted back, his smirk growing wider. He’s peering up at Steve, pleased and unmistakably _hungry,_ and Steve can only stare right back and swallow thickly.

“Look at you. Barely even touched you and you’re already rock hard,” Billy drawls, wrapping one of his hands around Steve’s dick. Steve’s breath catches and he’s almost thankful for the way Billy squeezes, because he’s still terrified he’s going to pop off before they even get started. “You want me that badly, baby?”

Steve isn’t sure if the question is rhetorical, because the answer should be obvious.

But when Billy gives his cock another squeeze, leans in close, and drags his tongue across the leaking slit, Steve gets the feeling he’s waiting on an answer. 

“Y- _yeah,_ shit,” he gasps, the back of his head hitting the palm tree as he leans into it. His fingers flex in Billy’s hair and twist a little tighter. He’s rewarded by a low, pleased-sounding chuckle. 

Then, Billy’s mouth is engulfing the head of his cock, and Steve almost bucks against him with a hissed: _“_ __S_ hit, _ want you so _badly.”_

Billy stares up at him as he hollows his cheeks, holding Steve’s gaze with his own. It's as though Billy is willing him to watch as he slowly takes more of Steve’s cock into his mouth and swallows him down, two inches at a time. Like a damn _pro._

Which— Well, he _is,_ so Steve shouldn’t be surprised.

Still, there’s no way he could have braced himself for this: Billy, with his nose buried against his groin, with his throat working to accommodate the girth of Steve’s cock, with his eyes half-lidded and watery as he starts to slowly bob his head. 

_God,_ it’s so good. Steve feels the tension in his gut curl, feels his balls tighten.

Then he feels Billy’s mouth slide away and a hand clamp around the base of his dick. 

Steve can’t help but whimper.

“Ah-ah,” Billy says; his voice is gravelly, and there’s a trickle of saliva running down his chin as he stares up at Steve. He doesn’t bother wiping it away. “Never said you were allowed to cum yet, did I?”

Steve doesn’t even know what to say to that. He just stands there — slack-jawed, knees nearly giving out on him as he slumps against the palm tree — and tries to catch his breath.

“I wanna have some fun with you. And you’re not gonna go ruining that for me, are you?”

It’s all Steve can do to shake his head. To groan, feebly, when Billy’s fist tightens like a vise.

Billy’s grin is too toothy and the glint in his eyes is too wicked to be saccharine, but there’s something sing-song about the way he says:

_“Good boy.”_

Steve wilts when his grip releases. Billy takes him into his mouth again, lets his cock rest heavy on his tongue a moment, like he’s testing the weight of it, before he swallows Steve down. He doesn’t miss a beat, already falling into the same quick rhythm as before, bobbing his head and working his mouth, quick and so fucking _messy._ Spit is bubbling from the corners of his mouth and running down his chin, and the sounds he’s making — the pleased hums, the groans, the sloppy, wet smacks of his lips as he works Steve’s dick — are nearly as obscene as the sight he makes right then. 

Billy is the perfect picture of depravity.

And he’s staring up at Steve like he knows this; his blue eyes are all pretty and misted, and his lips are flushed red when he pulls and spits on Steve’s dick, getting him nice and slick so that he can keep jerking him off. Billy grins up at him as he catches his breath, flexing his jaw like it’s sore.

“Don’t have to be so gentle with me, baby,” he says, reaching up with his free hand to grab at Steve’s wrist. He gives it a little tug, until Steve’s fingers pull taut in Billy’s hair, and Steve might be out of his mind turned on right then, but he gets the message.

So, when Billy goes right back to swallowing him down like he doesn’t know what a gag reflex is, Steve doesn’t hesitate. He clenches his fist in Billy’s hair and yanks, a little afraid that maybe he’s being _too_ rough, because Billy’s eyes squeeze shut and his nostrils flare and the pace of his head stutters and slows for a moment.

But then Billy’s groaning and sucking him down with a vengeance, and Steve stops worrying about how rough he’s being. 

He’s not used to this, is the thing; Steve’s not usually selfish about taking his pleasure. But Billy is digging his fingers into Steve’s ass and pulling him forward in wordless demand, and when Steve starts fucking into his mouth — tentatively, at first — Billy makes a sound like he’s _into it._

Steve’s few remaining brain cells just kind of shut off, at that point.

 _“Fuck—_ you feel so good,” Steve says, his voice gone raspy. He gets his other hand on the back of Billy’s head and starts rocking into his mouth, until he feels his cock hitting the back of Billy's throat, until he feels it clench and spasm and hears Billy start to choke. It’s so fucking tight and _perfect_ , but Steve has the sense to loosen his hold. To let Billy pull back, if he needs to.

Billy doesn’t. He sinks his nails into Steve’s skin and pinches his ass meanly, as if in reprimand for the fact that Steve has stopped fucking into his mouth. 

Steve gets that message, too. 

So, he gets right back to it. He grabs at Billy’s hair with both hands, thrusting into that unbelievable mouth, that tight, slippery heat, until Billy is making wet gagging sounds and peering up at Steve with glassy eyes and a saliva and snot-slick face.

It’s kind of gross. Billy’s kind of still _beautiful,_ too. Steve never realized the two things weren’t mutually exclusive.

It’s an odd revelation to be having when he’s about to cum at any second.

Steve at least has the courtesy to warn Billy before he does, first with an insistent tug at the back of his hair, then with a breathless: “Billy, I’m gonna—” 

Billy pulls off and tilts his head back with a gasp. He peers up at Steve through his lashes, pupils wide and face flushed. Steve can see every freckle across the sun-kissed bridge of his wide nose. There’s a faint sheen of sweat percolating along Billy’s jaw and dripping tantalizingly down his throat. 

“Where do you want me to take the moneyshot, baby?” Billy asks, pumping Steve’s dick slow and steady with one hand and squeezing around the base of it with the other. He’s holding Steve captive at the edge, _so close_ but not quite there. 

“In my mouth?” Billy sticks out his tongue demonstratively, running it along the seam of his lips like he’s giving Steve a free preview. Steve nearly busts at the sight alone.

And then he nearly busts when Billy offers, instead:

“Or on my face?”

And oh, _oh_ — The mental image is too much. It’s a good thing Billy’s hand is clamped tightly around the base of Steve’s cock, or else he’s sure just the suggestion would have gotten him off.

 _“Yeah,”_ Steve pants, voice tinged with desperation. Billy’s so pretty, it’d be a shame not to see that face of his glistening with something other than sweat and tears. 

Billy chuckles. From his periphery, Steve can see him rubbing at his cock again and squeezing at it. Like he’s _into_ this, like he’s into how _eager_ Steve is.

“My face it is, then. Just watch the hair.”

Billy starts to stroke him again, rough and determined. He expertly twists and drags his palm along the length, flicks his thumb across the slit, and slathers pre and saliva down Steve’s shaft, until he’s practically keening for it. Until Steve’s hunching forward, hips fucking into the tight, wet pressure of Billy’s fist.

It’s no surprise he doesn’t last through much of that. Especially not when Billy leans his face back and thrusts out his tongue like he’s presenting it. Like he’s giving Steve the perfect canvas.

Steve’s orgasm hits him so hard it knocks the wind right out of him. He groans, fist clenching in Billy’s hair, as hot, wet spurts of cum strike him across his freckled nose and his outstretched tongue. A few drops catch in his scarred eyebrow and run down into his eyelashes. Others dribble onto Billy’s tongue and streak messily across his cheeks and chin. 

Steve’s imagination didn’t do the real thing justice. Because when it’s over, when he’s stopped abortively thrusting into Billy’s palm and looks down to assess the aftermath, to gawk at the mess he’s made all over that stupidly perfect face, Steve thinks his soul really has gone and vacated his body.

He’s left panting and staring at the sight Billy makes. His eyes are closed as though in bliss, like there’s no greater high than having his face painted with cum. Billy licks his lips as though savoring the taste, then swallows it all down with a contented hum, like it’s fucking _ice-cream,_ or something.

Steve can’t do anything but gasp for air and watch as Billy’s tongue flicks at his chin. He swipes his finger across one cum-stained cheek and sucks it clean, then pulls it from his mouth with an audible _pop._ He’s grinning up at Steve as he wipes the jizz from his eyelashes and squints open his eyes. 

“So much for ‘customers always come first’, huh?” 

Steve nearly jumps at the sound of Billy’s voice. It snaps him out of his post-orgasm haze and has him realizing, with another start, that Billy is slowly jerking himself off.

Steve’s not sure why he feels kind of selfish, all of the sudden. Like maybe he should have offered to _help,_ or something. 

It was just kind of hard to think about common courtesy when Billy was deep-throating him. 

“Do you— Do you want me to—?” Steve makes a vague gesture that he hopes conveys a handjob, or a blowjob, or some other sexual act that somehow involves his right hand.

When Billy tilts his head back and laughs, Steve feels his pride sting and his cheeks go flush from embarrassment. He’s not sure what he said wrong, exactly, but he kind of wants to dissolve into the ground again.

At least, until Billy says: “You have no idea how much I’d love that, pretty boy.” 

Billy’s grin is wolfish as he peers up at Steve and then slowly, carefully, pushes himself to his feet. He thumbs another glob of cum off his cheek and laps it away; the sight is enough to make Steve’s spent cock feebly twitch. 

“But,” Steve prompts him, because he can hear it dangling in the air, unspoken.

“ _But,”_ Billy says, reaching up to fluff Steve’s hair, straighten his visor, and then brush out a wrinkle from his uniform top. Steve’s breath catches, because Billy is so close that he could kiss him, if he wanted to. He’s not sure why that thought occurs to him, much less why it remains, kicking around his head intrusively.

“I’m on the clock, so I gotta stay hard for this next scene. You know how it is.”

 _No,_ Steve wants to say, _I definitely don’t know how it is._

He’s reminded, once again, that Billy is in this sprawling beach house because he’s in a porn movie. Because he’s a _porn actor._ Steve’s not sure why he keeps forgetting, especially considering he’d just had the best blowjob of his nineteen years of life. Honestly, his brain has been operating on low capacity ever since he’d first spotted Billy lounging by the pool.

“But you stay right there, and I’ll go get you something nice.” Billy gives him a little pat on the head. Steve thinks he should be annoyed by it, but he’s still too blissed out to muster a reaction. 

When Billy saunters away, Steve tucks himself back into his jeans and meekly steps out from behind the palm tree to retrieve his empty delivery bag. He doesn’t dare glance toward the glass doors, too afraid of who might be looking.

Thankfully, Billy doesn’t leave him uncomfortably waiting around for very long. 

He returns after only a couple of minutes, a leather bi-fold in hand. Steve eyes it and wonders if it was technically a lie when Billy claimed he didn’t have any cash or cards on him.

It’s water under the bridge, though, between the blowjob and the fact that Billy is pulling out two slightly crumpled bills. 

“For the pizza,” Billy tells him, shoving a twenty into Steve’s hand. “And for your tip.”

Steve goes a little bug-eyed as Billy hands him a hundred dollar bill; he glances between Billy and the money he now has fisted in his palm. Billy just smirks at him and says, with a wink: “Keep the change.”

It’s an _awfully_ big tip considering Steve’s dick is the only one that’s gotten sucked. And also considering that Billy’s pizza has probably gone cold by now. Steve’s not even sure what to say.

“Uh, thank you,” is all that comes out, despite that Steve really wants to ask if Billy’s being serious right now, if maybe he could pinch him, because this all just seems a little too good to be true.

Instead, he pockets the cash and watches as Billy takes out a pen — _where was he keeping that?_ — and scribbles down something on the receipt that’s taped to the pizza box. He rips the paper off, handing it to Steve with a grin.

“In case you want a repeat performance,” Billy tells him; Steve reels a little when he glances down to see ten digits scrawled along the receipt. Along with another winky face.

He’s certain he’s blushing, too stupefied to get out anything more than a stunned: “Thanks.”

In retrospect, Steve wishes he’d said something decidedly cooler when he made his way through the side-gate, led there by Billy, who had apparently taken enough pity on him not to make Steve do the walk of shame through a house full of porn stars and crewmen.

“Maybe I’ll, uh, be able to give you better customer service next time?”

Billy bursts out laughing; it might have been charming if it wasn’t at Steve’s expense.

“Oh, the service was _just_ fine,” he says with a smirk. “But maybe next time I can give you more than just the tip.”

Steve kind of hates Billy for how effortlessly smooth he made that sound.

He also kind of hates the fact that Robin is never going to buy his excuse for why he was late picking up his next order.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to leave some love in the comments and/or come chat with me on my [tumblr](https://tea-otter.tumblr.com/).


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